


Tintin's Revenge

by Adina



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9875780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adina/pseuds/Adina
Summary: Owen wasn't the first intruder to target an item in Henry Parker's collection of alien artefacts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2008 and posted at http://adina-atl.livejournal.com/131601.html.

It was--amusing, perhaps more amusing than it ought to be, to watch both sides of this exercise, to hear Torchwood's conversations and Farrington's men's radios, to track the movement of both sides on CCTV, like a game of chess where only Ianto could see the entire board.

"Mr. Taylor?" Gwen's voice on the phone was calm, professional, perhaps a little bored sounding. "I'm calling from St. Helen's Hospital. Mrs. Christine Taylor was brought in an hour ago--"

Ianto listened with half an ear as Gwen spun a tale to the security guard about his injured wife, the rest of his attention focused on watching the man on the security cameras. The guard ran off without even calling his supervisor, which spoke well of the loving husband but rather less well of the professional guard. The other guard did call in, but extinguished his brief flare of competence by leaving his post, leaving the gate unguarded.

Ianto set up a watchdog app to catch any follow up or verification calls from the estate to hospital, redirecting them to Tosh's workstation. As head of Henry Parker's security Farrington _should_ be calling the hospital back to verify Gwen's story, but he seemed to be taking it at face value. Ianto shook his head, a little disappointed. If nothing else, Torchwood had a vested interest in keeping Mr. Parker's collection of alien artefacts contained, almost as much of one as Mr. Parker did.

Back at the security cameras, Ianto had to bite his lip as he watched Owen and the second guard converging on the generator that Owen was supposed to take out. The guard was punished for his prior dereliction by a vicious punch to the face--rather more vicious than Ianto could have expected, really. There was a store of anger in Owen deeper than he had thought; he would have to keep it in mind for the future. Pity the camera angle was wrong to catch Owen pulling a face over the Tintin tee-shirt, though.  
  
Farrington was on the ball this time, alerting his men and checking in with them at the loss of generator power. It would be interesting to see if he noticed the guard's absence, though from his movements it appeared he had. Wisely he hadn't advertised his knowledge, maintaining radio silence as he moved to the top of the main staircase, guarding his employer's privacy and the more interesting of the artefacts, never left on the ground floor where casual visitors could see them. This wouldn't be the first intrusion to target an item in Mr. Parker's collection.

***

_He went over the wall a hundred yards to the right of the gate, into the dead space between the greenhouse and the old stables: a dull, secluded spot ignored by even the most zealous of guards. He considered both buildings but dismissed them; he didn't know what he was looking for, but a plant, no matter how alien, was unlikely to be it. As for the stables, they were for the large and boring, the dirty and broken, things too odd to send to the rubbish tip but too mundane to display in the house. He was looking for more than that, something too--too interesting to ignore, too dangerous to leave in the hands of a civilian._

_He was past the stable, opposite the greenhouse door, when a loud scream from the rear propelled him into cover. The scream repeated and he realized it wasn't human, though the cursing that followed was both human and English, profoundly local in accent. He turned back as the stable door opened, spilling light and two figures into the courtyard, one holding the other up as they walked._

_"Bloody thing," the staggering man said, clutching a hand to his side._

_"You're the bloody one, mate," the other said. "It got you good. I warned you about those claws, you know. Not just for show, I said." The words were half worry, half reproof, with just a hint of malice, if he was any judge._

_"All right, all right, you told me," the wounded man said, his voice all querulous annoyance. "Just get me up the house already."_

_He waited in his silent shadow as the two men passed within five feet of him without a second look. Once they were out of sight he stole for the stable door. Whatever was in there had made a spirited attempt to disembowel its captors, which probably qualified it for the 'too dangerous for civilians' category. Assuming the unlucky victim hadn't just startled a barn owl, of course._

_He eased the door open, standing to the side in shadow, listening for sounds of remaining human presence. Something was in there, something that shrieked and muttered and grumbled its unhappiness with the world in vaguely birdlike tones. Nothing human spoke, so he slipped inside. The noise was coming from one of the old box stalls; otherwise the place was empty. Ready to heed the unwounded man's warning of claws, he peeked over the wall._

_It was a pterodactyl._

***

Farrington was winning this little exercise on points, Ianto decided. Owen was overconfident, depending on his...technical...advantage over the heat sensors without following elementary precautions like _closing the terrace door_. He thumped around like no one had ears, shining his penlight around like no one could see it. He was still on the ground floor when the backup generator came on, rendering his earlier theatrics with the generator rather moot.

The CCTV cameras gave only spotty coverage of the ground floor, so Ianto watched as Owen's dark figure appeared and disappeared from the monitors, working its way closer to the main staircase and the waiting Mr. Farrington. The staircase was well covered, of course, and he watched the inevitable confrontation with careful attention, ready to intervene if it should get out of hand, preferably before permanent damage was done.

"Hold it there." Farrington's words came over the Torchwood channel and Farrington's radio, jarringly out of sync. He killed the echo by muting Farrington's feed, deciding the Torchwood feed would be more informative.

Ianto had to give Owen back some points for style. "Evening," he said, completely casually, apparently at ease. "Nice place you've got here. Love what you've done with the pictures."

"Who are you?" Farrington demanded, and that--that was stupid. He should be calling for his men, calling the police. The intruder wasn't above the ground floor; the police were perfectly capable of taking him into custody without delving into areas they had no business in. It was stupid--and Farrington wasn't. Had he learned of this evening's exercise ahead of time? He wouldn't put it past the man, and it would explain his men's less than stellar performance earlier.

Ianto listened to the rest of the exchange, watched as Farrington was disarmed by a grab faster and stronger than merely human. "I'm Dr. Owen Harper and I'm having one hell of a day." The smash of the gun into Farrington's face--Ianto shook his head. He was definitely going to owe Farrington an apology when this was over.

***

_"Oh, you poor, beautiful thing."_

_The pterodactyl was big, too big for the loose box, its wings hunched about its body like some land-bound animal clumsily covered in a tarp. The claws on its right--knuckle? wing joint?--glinted wetly in the light, evidence perhaps of how its captor underestimated it._

_"Shusha, shusha," he crooned when it objected to his presence by shrieking in his face. "Is that any way to talk?" A bucket sat on his side of the wall, half-filled with whole fish. Grabbing one by the tail, glad of the gloves he wore, he threw it into the middle of the stall. The creature caught it mid-air, swallowed it in a gulp. "Good girl," he crooned again, then chuckled. "Or good boy, I suppose, but you look like a lady, don't you?" He threw her another fish. "Good girl."_

_She was beautiful, covered in golden-beige fur, fierce as any wild animal but not vicious, innocent as only an animal could be. But she didn't belong in this cramped stable, and--the corners of his mouth quirked up--she definitely qualified as too dangerous to leave._

_He fed her the rest of her dinner, then wiped his gloves clean on a rag, thinking about the best way to handle the matter. Fast and simple. Sedating her and hauling her over the wall--was neither fast nor simple, he decided after a moment's thought. He had no sedatives, no ropes, and a creature that outweighed him. Right then._

_He let himself out of the stable as quietly as he entered, heading for the house and looking out for guards. One was smoking a cigarette near the pool, a bad habit and a worse one while on guard. He ghosted up behind the man, stopping a good five feet away, outside the range of a sudden swing._

_"Hi!" he said, giving a cheerful little wave when the guard spun around, keeping both hands in plain sight. "Could you tell Mr. Parker I'd like to talk to him?" The guard goggled at him. Really, he'd have to talk to whoever was doing security now. "Tell him it's Ianto Jones."_

***

"Ianto?"

Jack's voice in his ear startled him into hitting the 'boss' key. Nothing as obvious as minimizing the window, of course; instead it pulled up records from the archive, displaying the most recently logged artefact in place of the CCTV images from Mr. Parker's estate. The effect was lost on Jack, over ten miles away, probably fortunately given that the artefact in question was the shattered remnants of the second Glove.

"Yes, Jack?" he said, thumbing his microphone on, noticing Jack was on his private channel. This was technically Gwen's operation, part of her training, and he wasn't sure whether Jack was more nervous about her progress or Owen's...fragility.

"Are you monitoring the guards' radio?"

He hurriedly unmuted Farrington's audio, heard Webb on the radio demanding answers. He queued up a call to 999, ready to spoof it as an automatic fire alarm from Mr. Parker's estate. "I'm on it, Jack. The fire brigade can be there in five minutes if it all goes pear shaped, and the chief has a reputation as a stickler. He's not going to be put off without a thorough inspection, especially after seeing the mess Owen made of the generator. I'm sure even Owen can manage to escape in the confusion."

Jack laughed at his moment of cattiness. "Great. Thanks."

***

_The terrace was ablaze with lights when Ianto was marched up to it. His original guard had been joined by two more and their attitude suggested that rougher manhandling would be in his future if they had their way._

_A tall dark figure waited at the edge of the terrace, made taller by the steps he was standing on; his face was in shadow, backlit by the lights from the house. "Ianto Jones," he said coldly when Ianto and his entourage came to a halt. "Still Torchwood's lapdog?"_

_"Philip Farrington," he identified the voice, lifting his head to stare steadily up into eyes he couldn't actually see against the light. "Still Mr. Parker's Alsatian?"_

_Farrington stalked down the two steps from the terrace as his men backed off. Ianto allowed himself only a twitch of his lips instead of the smirk the man's theatrics demanded. "Where'd you find him?" Farrington barked out at the guards, not taking his eyes off Ianto._

_"Between the pool and the greenhouse," the first guard said. He hesitated but only for a moment. "Except he approached me." Smart man. Or at least not as dumb as he looked._

_Farrington's lips twitched and a small snort escaped. Ianto kept his expression blank, only raising his chin slightly. Farrington glowered down at him and Ianto returned it evenly; Farrington broke first. "Damn it, boy!" he said, folding Ianto into a bear hug. "We were worried about you! We heard what happened."_

_Now was not that time to break down, though he indulged in the luxury of leaning into the other man's embrace for far longer than he should have. Eventually he pushed back and Farrington loosened his grip without letting go._

_"Why didn't you call?" Farrington demanded before laughing. "Not that you're not welcome to come over the wall any night; my men can always use the exercise." The men in question looked considerably less amused, but left when Farrington waved them off._

_"I--" He'd needed to know that Mr. Parker had something he could use before he approached him. He couldn't afford to be distracted, to complicate his life, not now, not yet. "I--" God, he felt seventeen again. He pulled the rest of the way out of Farrington's grip, pulled his tattered shell of calm back together. "I need to talk to Mr. Parker. About a pterodactyl."_

***

Owen was in Mr. Parker's bedroom when Ianto got the monitors back up, but of course there were no cameras there; Mr. Parker was more concerned for his own privacy than security. He shut down the connection again and joined Gwen by Tosh's workstation, listening to the same sounds they heard, with no clearer understanding of what was happening than they had. It was...nerve-wracking.

Mr. Parker's voice: "Yes?"

He held his breath. If Owen hit Mr. Parker--if he even threatened him-- Normally he wouldn't fear for an eighty-year-old man at Owen's hands, but they still didn't know, really know, that what they had gotten back was Owen. The violence he'd shown, the anger--

"It's okay, mate, I'm not gonna--hurt you. I'm--I'm a doctor." He let out his breath slowly, trying not to show his relief. This was the Owen he knew, prat though he was.

"You're a very violent doctor. I've been watching you." He kept his face straight only by force of will. Of course Mr. Parker was watching. His composure was tested to the limits as Mr. Parker recognized Owen as Torchwood, referred to Jack as 'the American', and complimented Tosh's legs. Did anyone think that Torchwood was secret anymore? Tosh's blush and smile was rather charming, though; he would have to retrieve a picture from the CCTV and send it to Mr. Parker.

The cough he heard was rather more alarming. "What's wrong with you?" Owen asked, still remembering he was a doctor, apparently. Ianto listened intently because that was something he hadn't been able to learn himself.

"Three heart attacks and a failed bypass." He shut his eyes, remembering just how old Mr. Parker was. "But I'm fine, because I have this." His eyes snapped open; he knew Mr. Parker's collection, knew everything he'd acquired in the last ten years. There was nothing, absolutely nothing--

And then he heard the song, like the eerie cries of whale song. Oh. He'd never meant, never thought--

***

_Mr. Parker looked older and more tired than the last time Ianto had seen him, but still sat erect and alert behind his desk in his book-lined study. "Ianto, lad," he said, starting to get up, only to stop at Ianto's upraised palm._

_"Don't--don't be kind to me, sir," he said before he could choke up. "I'm not sure I can take it."_

_Mr. Parker settled back into his chair, waved to the chair across from him. "Have a seat, Mr. Jones." Ianto endured his scrutiny, knowing he would see--no physical signs of injury, no scars. "What can I do for you, Ianto?"_

_"I have an artefact for you, sir," he said quickly, all business. "I want to trade it for the pterodactyl."_

_"An artefact," Mr. Parker said without expression. Before leaving for London Ianto had said he couldn't, wouldn't do that, not that Mr. Parker would ever have asked him to. "Why?"_

_The question could be interpreted half a dozen ways; Ianto chose to answer the easiest. "I need an entrée into Torchwood Three. I think the pterodactyl can help." The ground had been laid with weevils, coffee, and sex (or at least flirting), and now, maybe, he could seal the deal with a dangerous and interesting creature._

_"Why?" Mr. Parker asked again, inexorable. Why did he need the pterodactyl, why did he need to get into Torchwood Three, why did he need subterfuge--_

_"I can't answer that, sir."_

_Mr. Parker studied him again, nodded. "If you need a job you're welcome to come back, you know. At a suitably higher pay, of course."_

_That--oh, god, that was tempting. Except Torchwood would never ignore something as big as--he couldn't bring this down on Mr. Parker's head. Torchwood ignored Mr. Parker, dismissed him as a dilettante, a crackpot, but there were limits to the meddling they would let him get away with, the technology they would let him have. "No," he said, hearing his voice crack._

_"What do you need?" Farrington said from the doorway where he'd been leaning, quietly auditing the conversation. "Everything. Think it through, boy."_

_"The--pterodactyl," he said, falling back into the habit of obedience from six years before. "A sedative that won't kill her." He pictured the scene. "An empty warehouse to release her into."_

_"Ropes?" Farrington offered. "Nets?"_

_Ianto twisted back to look at him, shook his head. "It can't be too easy. It has to take time, has to take two of us. I have to show him we can work together."_

_Farrington looked a question at Mr. Parker._

_"I hope you know what you're doing," Mr. Parker said. He sighed, "You usually do." He nodded at Farrington. "Make it so, as they used to say on that rather silly television show."_

_"You--haven't even seen the artefact, sir," Ianto protested._

_Mr. Parker gave him an impatient look, a look reserved for the excessively dense. "I can't keep her, lad. She savaged one of my people today, as I'm sure you already know. I can't let her fly without Torchwood catching or killing her, but I can't keep her cooped up like this either. My choice is to let Torchwood have her or to kill her, and if anyone is going to kill her--I'd rather it wasn't me."_

_"I--Thank you."_

_"Keep your artefact," Mr. Parker said, waving it, the idea of it, away with his hands like shooing flies. "Let this be my laugh on Torchwood, after all these years."_

***

It took him too long to realize that what he was hearing wasn't just another coughing fit, that Mr. Parker wasn't just playing Owen for sympathy, to extract information about aliens. When he realized it wasn't, he clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms, trying to will life into Mr. Parker. The steady squeal of the medical equipment, Owen's curses, told him that it was over.

He barely heard the others' panic over the power build up, sunk in misery, in memory. After they learned the truth, he withdrew to the kitchen, started coffee. Gwen followed him.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You seem rather down."

"Oh, well." He gave her a shrug and half a smile. "Death of eighty-year-old man in bed, not exactly Torchwood's normal line," he said, trying to keep it light. She just looked at him and he knew she wouldn't let it go. "It just reminded me. I--knew an old man. Not exactly a father figure, but he helped me put my life back together after my father died. Gave me my first job when I was seventeen, gave me the kick in the trousers to make something of my life." Showed him aliens were real, told him about Torchwood, encouraged him when he determined to get hired by London.

"He sounds like a special man," she said, a slight questioning intonation suggesting that she was trying to figure out the connection with the reclusive, Howard-Hughes-ish Mr. Parker. He was sure she'd be shocked if she knew how he'd first encountered Mr. Parker after Farrington caught him hacking into Mr. Parker's computers.

He handed her a coffee, started another. "When he died I hadn't seen him in--almost two years. Not in person. Occasional emails, nothing more." Including an email last night. "I didn't _need_ him anymore. And now I wonder--"

"If he needed you?" Gwen asked. He nodded.

***

 _The next day Ianto posted a package to Mr. Parker on his way to work--his first day of work at Torchwood Three. Included was a note:  
_ Because no one at Torchwood is worthy of this. __

 _Underneath that it said:  
_ I could tell you what it is, but where's the fun of that? __

It was unsigned.

***

Mr. Parker had left a large file marked 'For Torchwood' and instructions to his solicitor to let them take what they would of his collection. Archiving the resulting artefacts fell to Ianto, of course. It was almost a shame to hide away Mr. Parker's toys, his treasures, buried in dark boxes in the depths of the Hub.

He left the beacon on his worktable until Jack ventured down into the archives to find him. "Something to show you, sir," he said after pretending to ignore Jack leaning in the doorway while he finished his current item.

Jack strolled into the room, sat hipshot on the table. "What have I told you about calling me 'sir,' Ianto?"

Ianto looked up from the archive computer. "This is work time. Sir." He nodded towards the beacon. "As soon as I'm finished with that it will be--"

"Playtime?" Jack asked with a hopeful eyebrow.

"--not work time," Ianto continued with a hidden smirk. He picked up the beacon, cradled it in his hands. It was still sending out energy in lazy pulses, seemingly in time with his heartbeat. "Something odd about this. When I brought it in here the scanner went off."

Jack shrugged. "The energy--"

"Not the energy scanner, sir," Ianto interrupted. "RFID." He turned it over, pointed to a tiny square of plastic embedded in one of its folds, barely two millimetres square. "That's Torchwood One's chip, part of our--their archiving system."

"Leading to the question of how Mr. Parker acquired one of Torchwood One's toys," Jack said, his voice promising grim consequences for the person responsible.

Ianto nodded. "There was a certain amount of--" He hesitated, decided Jack would forgive the word, the sentiment. "--looting of the London archives after the battle, by UNIT and Torchwood Two and Three." Jack gave him a look that said he noted the accusation and would address it later. Or never. "I don't know if records were kept of what went where?" He knew there were no records, because he had looked for them when Jack had first hired him.

Jack shook his head. "Look into it, see if anything else turns up in private collections, eBay, the usual." Ianto nodded. Jack held out his hands and Ianto put the beacon into them. "This--" He laid one hand over it as if to feel the energy pulsing through it. "This deserves to be seen and appreciated, not hidden away in the dungeons. I'm inclined to give Owen custody of it again."

"That seems appropriate. He deserves it." Ianto smiled and nodded towards the door, telegraphing an invitation with his eyes. "Jack."


End file.
